


Six Years

by beatlebun



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2661362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatlebun/pseuds/beatlebun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been six years to the day since the disastrous night, and Oliver is just trying to get through it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Years

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this and posted it before the winter finale aired, so a few things don't quite add up. But ah well, I still like it so hope you enjoy!

Oliver has had a long stressful day at work. The servers had given up on them yesterday, which made him stay late to get it all fixed and today was all about damage control. He hates days that aren’t going according to plan, he hates days where he has to do other things than what he planned for the week on Monday and he mostly hates days where he’s home so late that his family is already fast asleep.

He hasn’t seen his daughters in almost 48 hours and all he communicated with his husband was a sleepy kiss before he left early this morning. He is tired, so tired from getting up early, from coming home late. He is tired from endless nights of restless sleep. Around this time of year the nights always become endless, restless, filled with nightmares and panic attacks.

His bones hurt as he walks down the stairs to the parking garage and his eyes burn from sleeplessness and staring at a screen for too long. His mind goes in overdrive. This day six years ago he was walking here, too, on his way home with nothing to worry about. This day six years ago was the day his life completely turned upside down. He takes the steps to his car slowly, carefully, as if maybe he can turn back time if he walks slow enough.

He knows he can’t. He knows things are okay now. There’s no real fear of the unknown anymore, and the idea that someone will come to his doorstep one day to take everything away has sudbued from daily to monthly. He fears now that it’s become a second nature, most of the the time. He fears that he will mention it in passing to the wrong person. Not tonight, tonight he fears how he will deal and cope.

He gets into the car and starts it. The radio blasts loudly, he’d turned it up this morning to stay awake. He turns it off now, he can’t bear to hear the songs they’re playing. Christmas carols were once his favorite, now all he hears is a broken and fragile boy singing them in his shower.

Naked, stinking of what Oliver now knows to be the burn of human flesh, eyes wide with madness and disbelief. He hears Connor singing in his shower, the sounds echoing back against the tiles. He sees him being so detached from reality, so utterly unlike himself, it had scared Oliver. He had never wanted to hear Jingle Bells again.

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle Sam is dead, oh what fun to kill a man and Laurel is a slut.”

It was only one of the many variations of Jingle Bells that Oliver had heard that night, but it was the first one. He had paid attention to that one, and it was when he realized Connor was singing about murdering someone. It’s the only version he remembers. He never quite figured out why Laurel would be a slut.

Oliver checks the clock, 6pm. Twelve hours from now it will have been six years that his life changed forever. No Christmas had been the same ever since. No November and December have been the same ever since. He can’t listen to Jingle Bells and he can’t go to the bonfire. He can’t take his daughters to the woods on a sunny day, because he knows somewhere there are the ashes of a man he never knew. A man who was never found, because he kept his mouth shut just like the rest. He can’t watch the news when one of Annalise Keating’s cases is heavily featured, because he keeps thinking: ‘I know what happened to your husband.’.

After connecting his iPod to the car radio he chooses a playlist that can’t in the slightest remind him of the murder, then backs out of the parking space. If he is quick he’ll be able to have dinner with his family tonight. Like any other night, hopefully. He knows the tension will be there. Has been there the last four times this night arrived, but there were never children involved. Now there are two.

Becca and Felice are two gorgeous toddlers, two year old twins who Oliver was lucky to become a father to eleven months ago. Oliver is still amazed about how smooth the girls have made the transition from orphanage to two fathers, and whenever he comes home he remembers why he’s doing all this. Why he copes with everything, why he deals with the nightmares and the tension, the doubts and the fear. When he sees his daughters’ faces, he knows why he keeps quiet. For them he would do anything, to protect them and keep them safe from harm.

He stops still at a zebra crossing and smiles when he recognizes Asher Millstone. Then his smile falls. Connor had told him this part too, where they certainly thought Asher would catch them. Standing in front of their car, the same way Asher does now. This time he does turn and look into the car, then waves when he recognizes Oliver.

“’Sup dude!” he yells loud enough for Oliver to hear inside the car. “Picking up the hubbie, huh?”

Oliver forces a smile and nods. Asher doesn’t need to know he always takes a detour via the courthouse on this night because he can’t handle route 6, knowing Connor drove there with a dead body in his car. He watches as Asher smiles widely at him, always so gullible and friendly. He knows Asher wasn’t involved in the murder and that the four of them afterwards did everything they could to include him in the weird friendship they’d built. As to not make him suspicious.

Oliver wonders what Asher must think of the annual get together the other four have on this night. He wonders if he realizes, if he even knows about it. Oliver knows about it. Every year he is reminded of the day his life turned upside down. He’s reminded because of the tension, because the news mentions it’s been one year, two years, three years since Sam Keating went missing. He knows because every year at 6am there is a frantic Connor with him, begging him to not report him. He reeks of alcohol every time, and he tells Oliver about how Michaela, Laurel and Wes are doing. Every year on this day at 6am, Oliver has his arms full of Connor and he wonders why he still puts up with it.

A few cars have stacked up behind Oliver and only when they’re starting to honk it seems like Asher realizes he is holding up traffic. He gives Oliver an awkward thumbs up and starts moving again. Oliver hits the gas pedal as soon as Asher is out of the way. He might actually have grazed past him a little bit, going off the loud “hey!” he screams after Oliver.

Usually a safe driver, Oliver hits the gas as hard as he can and practically races home. His mind is a jumble of thoughts, trying to imagine what it must have felt like for Connor those six years ago. Connor’s life had also been pretty normal six years ago. He was just going to study for his exams like any other student. Next thing he knew, he was singing about murdering his boss’s husband.

Oliver throws all of his principles out of the window as he takes the long way home. The feeling of guilt in his chest tightens and his breathing is becoming ragged. Today was long, heavy and he knows it will only get worse when he gets home. Still, he has to get there. His foot on the gas is about as heavy as his heart feels. His vision blurs, his mind goes in overdrive and he turns his car onto the driveway without remembering getting there.

Just like Connor couldn’t remember how he’d driven to Oliver’s the night of the murder. Oliver closes his eyes, ignores the images of a jaded Connor at his doorstep and searches for things that calm him down. He can’t find them, all he sees is a frantic young boy saying he screwed up. He remembers Connor singing about murder and he tries to focus on the playlist his car is blasting instead. He can’t make out the words that are being sung, so he turns off the radio and the engine and then he is left with nothing but silence around him. His mind is screaming, faltering, panicking. Still, after six years, he doesn’t know how to deal with any of this.

He tries to focus on the things he does know. Like how much trouble he would be in if he told on Connor now. He knows he didn’t lie on the stand when they asked if Connor had come to see him that night. He knows he withheld the full truth and he knows that is just as punishable. He knows that somehow he kept going with his life, made plans and everything returned to as normal as possible. He is married now, he has a house with a backyard and he even has children. His life turned upside down, yet the wheels kept turning.

He looks at his front door. It no longer says 303 and it is no longer in a hallway. There is a pathway leading up to a door that reads 72 in big, bright, gold numbers. Behind that door is a whole different life than a year ago. Different than two years ago, but especially six years ago.

One year ago, there hadn’t been two children and a nanny about to be let off. One year ago there had been silence and tension and no television. Because the news might mention how long it has been since Sam Keating’s disappearance on this day. They won’t have television on tonight. Two years ago there hadn’t been a nanny, or children, or a pathway leading up to 72. Two years ago there was a hallway, silence and tension and a door that said 303. Two years ago there had not been television on that night.

Six years ago there had been a hallway, a door that said 303. There had been a movie on a television, the late night news and then a peaceful sleep afterwards. There had been a frantic knock at 6am. Oliver’s breath comes in staggers while he remembers.

He gets out of the car. He knows he is pale and his knees are shaking. He hopes the nanny won’t pick up on it. He is still afraid that he’ll say the the wrong thing or that someone will pick up on his stress every year. Someone linking the puzzle pieces. As a father, his biggest fear is that one day Becca and Felice might have to lose their parents. That they’ll be taken away because a father who once helped cover up a murder isn’t a very good candidate for adoption.

He gets to the front door, sweating and breathing hard, wishing for a pair of strong hands around his waist that would tell him it will be okay. He wants for a moment of normalcy, because in the previous years his work had always offered normalcy on this day. Today it hadn’t. He needs to see that sly smirk like six years ago. He holds his keys in his hand, they rattle with how much he is shaking and he can feel the faint buzz in his ears starting to grow. He needs to get inside before he collapses right there on the front porch. Oliver locates the right key, fumbles it awkwardly into the lock and turns it.

Little feet approach the door as soon as they hear the sound of the lock. Oliver braces himself for an armful of little girls. The last time he saw them was yesterday morning and he knows they must be excited to see him. He is excited to see them, so he opens up and waits for the jump. It doesn’t come.

Instead, he finds himself being tucked forward by two pairs of little fingers, their voices high and full of adrenaline as they yell.

“Daddy, daddy, help!”

“Help with what?” he asks.

His ears are still buzzing and his mind is still a jumble. They tug insistently and he has no choice but to move forward with them. He has no time for deep breaths or soothing words to himself before he’ll be pulled into the living room, where he has to face their nanny.

“We don’t know where papa is!” Felice comments with amazement in her voice, making Oliver stop dead in his tracks.

“Daddy, you have to help find papa!”

Oliver closes his eyes, his ears are ringing now and he hopes it isn’t true. It can’t be true.

“Isn’t he just in his office? Where is Anna?”

“No, daddy! Papa sent Anna home, now we can’t find papa!”

They run off into the living room again, out to find their papa.

It’s as if his body is filled with strength when he realizes what his little girls are saying. Connor came home, he sent the nanny home and now he isn’t here anymore. He left the children alone. Oliver knows today is a hard day for both of them. He has never once complained about Connor disappearing on him for hours, always coming back to him at 6am on the dot, every year. He knows they each have their way of dealing with this day and he is fine with that. But he will not, ever, tolerate his husband leaving their children alone because he needs to cope with the murder he committed in his own way.

His heart is beating wildly against his chest as he grabs his phone out of his pocket and starts to dial. He waits impatiently for the phone to connect, and when it does he sighs heavily. Of course, Connor left his phone at home. He curses his husband for being so neglectful tonight and thanks Gods he doesn’t believe in that his daughter’s are alright, even though they were left alone.

He shoves his anger aside and ignores the everlasting worry he has for Connor on this night. He knows he’ll be out with Laurel, Wes and Michaela and he knows he’ll be drinking until he falls over. They’ll all get a taxi together and Wes will be dropped of last, because they all know he’s the one who can make them all keep their mouths shut in the taxi driver’s presence. He knows at 6am Connor will come to his door and beg him not to turn him in and he will reassure Connor. He will be angry tomorrow, when things will be as back to normal as they can be. He will tell him he can’t leave their daughters alone no matter how stressful the murder night is. They will talk about it then.

He will not think about what might happen to Connor, how much he wishes Connor would stay in with him so they could deal with this together. That’s what a marriage is supposed to be about, getting through the worst together. He won’t tell Connor how much it scares him that he goes out this night, that he is afraid they might talk a little too loud. He won’t say any of that, because he knows the Keating four have to deal with this in their own ways. He’s a minor side passenger in the bigger scheme of things.

“Santa, did you find my papa?”

“Is Santa helping you look?” Oliver asks, voice as sweet as he can muster. Expecting Becca to be playing with a tiny Santa toy she got yesterday, he is startled when he hears a low male voice answer her.

“Well, no, my little girl. Where’s your daddy, I thought he was going to help us look?”

Oliver takes the three steps into the living room and sure enough, there is Santa, sitting on his hands and knees and checking under the coffee table.

“That papa of yours is a good hider, I tell you!” He says to Felice, who giggles and runs to check behind the sofa. There aren’t many hiding spots in the living room and Oliver wonders how many times they have checked the same place again.

Santa gets up off his knees, turns around and throws a wide smile at Oliver. Low in his gut, Oliver feels something rumbling. It travels through his body, unravels all the tension, fear and anger that he felt and a loud laugh comes bubbling out of him. He laughs, suddenly carefree and so goddamned in love with his husband.

Connor looks around the room while he rubs over his stupid, adorable fake big belly and then he fakes a yawn that makes the girls giggle. Oliver couldn’t stop smiling if he wanted to.

“Keep looking girls, you’re doing great.” Connor says in a low voice. He sniffles a bit, the moustache most likely tickling his nose. “I’m going to have a word with your daddy here.”

He walks slowly towards Oliver, almost frantically. There’s a sparkle in his eye that Oliver has not seen before on this anniversary date. It’s something that’s alive and present and so very much here. Oliver wants to kiss him right there on the spot, but he thinks it wouldn’t go over very well with the girls if their daddy kissed Santa. He goes for holding out his hand instead.

Connor takes it gratefully and walks right into Oliver’s embrace.

“You’re home,” Oliver hears the disbelief in his own voice as he chokes it out.

“I’m home,” Connor answers. “I thought…-” he hesitates, but Oliver holds him tighter and hums softly to encourage him to talk. To tell him it’s okay, he isn’t going to judge whatever Connor will say. Not tonight, he will give Connor whatever he needs to deal with tonight.

The girls are still searching for their papa in every corner of the room, not even in the slightest concerned that he might actually be missing, and Oliver buries himself in Connor’s arms just a little bit deeper. This, here, with his Connor Walsh dressed as Santa, is exactly where he wants to be. Connor, who didn’t do boyfriends. The boy who six years ago didn’t believe in a life tied down to someone is now his husband, the father of his children. In that moment Oliver knows this is where he belongs.

“We couldn’t do it anymore,” Connor says and Oliver sighs in relief. “We realized that if we do this every year, we will eventually get caught. Someone, somewhere, will realize that four people who frequented Sam’s house always meet up and get hammered the day that he went missing.”

And yes, okay, they are still these people. Their life revolves around covering up, every step they take has to be taken with care. Every turn they make needs to be a turn that can’t reveal anything and it will be hard. It will be harder than today, it will be easier than today. Some days will feel like he’s about to burst at the seams and other days will feel like nothing can touch them.

They are still people who need to make sure no one will ever find out they burned a body, they chopped up a body and they hacked into the town’s surveillance system to erase Connor’s car from the footage. They are still these people, but they’re also the fathers of two gorgeous girls.

“I’m sorry that this is the reason, rather than me wanting to be with you tonight. I know you want me to be with you tonight.”

Oliver takes another deep breath before he releases the ridiculous hold he had on Connor and holds him at arm’s length instead. He looks at Connor, tries to find any trace of tension and fear, but he can’t. All he sees is a ridiculous man dressed up as Santa weeks before the holiday.

“Let’s just…- I understand, okay? That’s enough,” he says. Curiousity then gets the better of him, “so, isn’t it a bit early for Santa to pay us a visit?”

Connor shrugs. “I thought I would use tonight to create happy memories for this date, to focus on from now on.”

Yes, they’re still the couple that is walking around with the biggest secret someone can quite possibly hold, but they’re in it together. They have moved on from it and they are good people now. Connor is a man who dresses up as Santa for his daughters and Oliver is a man who is head over heels in love with him. When he sees his daughters faces as they look up at Santa, he knows everything they are doing, all the lies and secrets and fear they live with, is worth it to be able to be together like this.

Against his own arguments, he leans over and gives Connor a sweet, languid kiss on the lips. One that promises for more and better later.

“Ewww, daddy!” Felice exclaims, “why do you kiss Santa?”

Oliver smiles down at his daughter.

“Because he makes me a very, very happy man.”

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged the post "who of your OTP would dress up as Santa with this idea. Then I started to write it and it kind of got away from me, oops? Find me on tumblr under as beatlebun as well!


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